Chapter 1
Jake Harper didn’t care much for schedules. Or alarms. Or grades. If he was being honest, school in general. That’s why, even as his fifth alarm of the morning rang and rang, Jake didn’t bother to get up — even knowing he would be late to school. Again.
His mom was already gone for work. And by now, his teachers had stopped expecting Jake to even show up to class.
He wasn’t dumb — just done.
Done with worksheets that meant nothing.
Done with being told he was “wasting potential.”
Done pretending like he cared about the same stuff everyone else did.
Maybe he was just done with life.
When Jake finally got to school, it was 9:20 a.m. He was an hour late, which wasn’t bad for him. He walked into the front office with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, head down, hoodie up. A few minutes later, he walked out holding a bright red tardy slip after yet another grueling lecture about responsibility and punctuality — as if he hadn’t heard it all before.
He crumpled up the slip and tossed it into the overstuffed cafeteria trash can.
The hallways were half-empty — most kids already tucked into their second period, books open, heads down, pretending to care. Jake strolled past the lockers like he had all the time in the world, ignoring the assistant principal watching him through the office window.
He knew that look. A mix of irritation and pity.
They were all just waiting for him to fail so they could say, “Told you so.”
Jake didn’t go to class. Instead, he ducked out the side door by the gym and kept walking — hoodie up, headphones in. Music loud. Everything else, quiet.
By the time he reached the school parking lot, he was already pulling out his chipped skateboard. He tossed it into the back of his older cousin’s rusted-out Jeep and slammed the door shut without looking back.
When he got home, the apartment was empty. As always.
His mom was probably working a double at the diner — picking up extra shifts to pay the bills that never stopped stacking up. Jake told himself he didn’t blame her. Not really. But part of him did — in a small, quiet way he didn’t like admitting.
He told himself the divorce wasn’t her fault, but sometimes, it felt like she’d let their family fall apart and never bothered to pick up the pieces. There were only two of them now, but even that felt like too much for her to handle.
He walked into the kitchen and saw a note taped to the refrigerator, written in his mom’s rushed, slanted handwriting.
Jake, we really need to talk. Be home tonight. Please. – Mom
Jake stared at the note for a few seconds. Then he crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
That night, they sat together on the old, worn-out couch, eating maybe-expired microwave spaghetti off plastic plates. The TV buzzed with some random background noise neither of them was watching. Jake sat quietly, picking at the gross spaghetti while his mom spoke in that tired, quiet tone she used when she didn’t have the strength to yell.
“You can’t keep going like this,” she said. “You’re fifteen. You’ve got to get your life together.”
Jake didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say — or what his “life” was even supposed to be.
After a long pause, she sighed. “I called your Aunt Carrie. She said you can stay with her this summer. Cape May. Beach town. Quiet. Maybe it’ll be good for you.”
Jake blinked. “You’re sending me away?”
“I’m giving you space,” she said. “And a chance. If you want it.”
He didn’t. Not really. But he didn’t want to stay here either.
They sat in silence for a while, the soft hum of the TV the only sound in the room.
Cape May.
Jake had never been, but all he knew was that it was far away from this.
Far from the apartment that smelled like burnt coffee and stress.
Far from the silence, the tension, the weight of expectations he never asked for.
Far from everything that had been pressing down on him since the day his dad walked out — and his mom stopped smiling.
“I didn’t ask for space,” Jake finally muttered.
“I know,” his mom replied, voice low. “I know you didn’t ask for it. But Jake… I do know you. Maybe not well, not lately, but I do know what you need.”
